-whom all his life long he had refused and
rejected--hear his cries?

Hagar's voice came to him here through all the din and thunder,
beseeching that the door might be closed. He closed it behind him,
and stepped out into the darkness. It was already past the hour for
the "Gull" to arrive, he remembered, and then a sudden thought flashed
through his brain that beacons ought to be kindled to guide the
skipper, if he were not already beyond the need of earthly guides and
beacons. And close upon this thought came a remembrance of the Culm
fishermen,--stout, skilful sailors, all of them,--and a great hope
filled his heart that in them he might find aid in his extremity. And
without waiting for a second thought, he started through the inky
darkness and the tempest for Culm village. He ran till he was
breathless. He climbed and groped his way over and along the slippery
rocks, the awful voice of the sea filling his ears and goading him on.

CHAPTER XXII.

WEARY WATCHING.

The evening wore on. They were all on the beach,--Trafford and the
Culm fishermen,--and now a beacon fire streamed up into the darkness,
and made the night seem even more black and intense. They had piled
their heap of driftwood somewhat in the shelter of a great rock, and
around it the men were huddled, muttering and whispering to each
other, and casting sober glances at Trafford, who stood apart from
them in the shadow. Not a word had he spoken since the fire was
kindled, but, grim and silent as a statue, had stood there, with his
eyes looking upon the gleaming sea, and the rain beating in his face.
He had worked desperately while gathering driftwood.

"The master be crazed, like," Dirk had whispered to the men as they
came in with armfuls of fuel. "D'ye see his eyes? D'ye see the way he
be runnin' up an' down, poor man?"

"Ay, an' his lad be where many o' your'n an' mine ha' been, eh, Dirk?"
said Hark Harby. "Mabby he ken tell what 'tis ter be losin' his own,
an' no help fur it, eh?"

"Sh!" said Dirk; "the sea ben't able ter get sech a lad as his every
day. If he be lost, 'tis a losin' fur more'n he, yender."

This was before the beacon was kindled. Now they huddled in a gloomy
circle about the hissing, sputtering fire, some crouching close to the
rock to save themselves from the rain, and the others drawing their
heads down into their wide-collared jackets, that bade defiance to the
wet. The wind whirled and raved, and the s